The following pieces contain language that may be offensive. Some of the pieces deal with sensitive matters, surviving 7 years of child sexual abuse and 16 years of mental and physical child abuse. I used to think being a survivor of childhood abuse gave me a purpose - but now that I have a daughter who was born with a life threatening CHD called Truncus Arteriosus, my purpose has become greater than me - my work has shifted slightly to include her. Enjoy!

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Country Road

There is nothing that can compare and nothing can explain it. There is something free about taking a long Sunday drive on a back country road. Windows down. Radio up. One arm hanging out the window gleaming red from the sun’s piercing kiss. The wind hitting me from both sides, the blows are soft, yet strong. My hair stirs overhead, going crazy like a conductor’s arms directing a Bach symphony – wild and passionate. The road is empty and provides many curves to maneuver. Like a rug being whipped, the road has many bumps that provides me with a momentary free fall feeling as my car drives over them and partially leaves the concrete. It stirs a tickle in my stomach like nerves from a first date. A familiar song comes on the radio, one that reminds of my youth. The sky is vast and is the color of light blue sapphires with clouds that look to be made of filling for a pillow. They offer no recognizable shapes but are free forms floating above. The fields are full of life. Crops for the local market. The smells that fill my nose are pure with a hint of wild flowers. I feel safe, secure, and free. It feels good.

The sun seems to fall from the sky as dusk quickly approaches. The warm wind is replaced with a slight intimation of coolness. The sky changes colors right before me. It looks like a rainbow turned sideways with large bands of blue, yellow, orange, and red that disappear as it touches to tree line. I can see the stars beginning to form and the suns light is quickly replaced by the moon’s light shining down like a guide. I can hear nature calling as the frogs and crickets sound off competing for airtime to find a mate. While the air is still pure it now offers an earthly scent. It is not overpowering, but makes me think of earthworms digging in the soil in the fields a few feet away.

As I approach the city limits I notice a drastic change is my surroundings. The streets are illuminated by light poles that shine an eerie shade of white and the ground is cluttered with garbage. People drive sporadic and aggressive. The smells of a city can only be described as factory smog – thick and impure. The green crops are replaced by visual pollution – billboards and signs everywhere. The roaring cars and honking horns consume the sounds of nature. It is no match.

I am amazed at what we have created as a livable community. One that knows not of the purest of life but one that takes all that is good to create something that is yet still unappreciated. There was a simpler time, a safer time. I am sad that I never knew it. I long for those long drives on that back country road for that is where freedom and peace reside. Living at its best, simple and pure.

Who am I?

I discovered my voice several years ago through journal-style writing and poetry. While not always using proper English or grammar, I use blogging as a way to heal and write about sensitive issues. I will always tell it like it is and make no apologies for writing what I am thinking. I love to write creatively. While most of my work deals with non-fiction pieces, I also enjoy writing fictional short stories.